Chapter 205: Conversation is Good

The room the innkeeper provided was modest—a far cry from the opulent halls of the Arandor estate—but it had a sturdy lock, a warm hearth, and a heavy oak chair to which Eristasia was currently bound.

Percival sat at the small, scarred wooden table a few feet away, entirely focused on the spread before him.

True to his word, the innkeeper had delivered a generous meal: a steaming bowl of thick beef and potato stew, half a roasted fowl glazed in honey, and a crusty loaf of bread, all washed down with a large tankard of dark ale.

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the scrape of Percival's wooden spoon against his bowl.

From her place tied to the chair, Eristasia watched him. Her hands were still intricately bound, her fingers immobilized to stop any somatic casting, and the cloth gag was tight around her mouth. Her eyes, though, were entirely free to shoot daggers at him.

Percival tore off a chunk of the warm bread and dipped it into the rich gravy of the stew. Just as he brought it to his mouth, he paused. He could feel her gaze. It wasn't just the burning hatred this time—it was the subtle, involuntary shift in her posture.

He glanced over. Eristasia's eyes had drifted from his face down to the roasted fowl. She quickly looked away, her jaw tight, but a quiet rumble from her stomach gave her away.

Percival chewed his bread slowly, swallowed, and leaned back in his chair.

"I can offer you some," Percival said, his voice calm and even. "But there are rules. I'll take the gag off, and I'll feed you. In exchange, you don't scream, you don't call for help, and you don't try to bite my fingers off. You break the deal, the gag goes right back on, and you starve for the night. Do we have an understanding?"

Eristasia glared at him, her chest heaving with indignant breaths. For a long moment, she refused to acknowledge him. But as the savory smell of the stew filled the small room, her resolve cracked. She gave a stiff, humiliated nod.

Percival stood, grabbed a piece of the fowl, and brought his bowl over to her. He set the food on a small stool, then carefully reached behind her head and untied the knot.

The moment the cloth fell away, Eristasia took a deep breath. "You arrogant, filthy wretch," she hissed, her voice raspy but dripping with aristocratic venom. "Do you truly believe a meal will buy your forgiveness? When I get out of these ropes, I will rip the air from your lungs."

"Not screaming. Good start," Percival said dryly. He tore off a piece of the tender meat and held it out to her.

Eristasia turned her head away in defiance. Percival didn't react. He just held it there, waiting. Slowly, the gnawing hunger won out. She turned back, glaring at him with pure hatred, and opened her mouth, taking the meat from his fingers.

She chewed in silence, swallowing hard. Despite herself, she leaned forward slightly when he offered a spoonful of the warm stew.

"My husband will make you beg for the death you denied me today," Eristasia whispered after she swallowed the broth. She tugged uselessly against the ropes around her wrists.

"Duke Moonfrey Windwhisper is not a forgiving man. He commands the finest wind mages in the kingdom. He will tear this continent apart stone by stone to find you, and when he does, your suffering will be legendary."

Percival wiped his own mouth with the back of his hand and set the bowl down. He leaned against the edge of the table, looking at the furious noblewoman.

"Tell me about him," Percival said.

Eristasia blinked, the fiery momentum of her threats suddenly derailed. "What?"

"Your husband. Moonfrey," Percival continued, his voice entirely free of sarcasm. "Tell me about him. Tell me about your life in Arandor. Tell me about your daughter."

Eristasia stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Are you mad? You murder my child, you tie me up like a common beast, and you ask me to regale you with stories of my family?"

"We have a long night ahead of us, and I'm tired of the death threats," Percival said with a shrug, taking a sip of his ale. "It might get boring. Conversation is good, so... tell me who Liraeth was."

For a moment, Eristasia looked like she was going to spit at him. But as she looked into the Outworlder's dark, exhausted eyes, she saw no mockery. Just a strange, quiet patience. The rage in her chest faltered, replaced by the soft ache of her grief.

"Moonfrey is... he is a proud man," Eristasia began, her voice dropping to a softer, more distant tone. "A giant in the court. People fear him. They see his strictness and his power. But they never saw him with Liraeth."

Percival sat back, listening quietly.

"When she was seven, she manifested her first wind affinity," Eristasia continued, a small, involuntary smile flickering across her lips as the memory took over. "She was trying to reach a jar of honey sweets on the top shelf of the manor's kitchen. Instead of levitating the jar, she accidentally summoned a localized gale right in the middle of Moonfrey's study down the hall."

Percival knew about people who 'manifested' their abilities before even awakening a Class. But he never knew Liraeth had been one of them.

She let out a soft, wet laugh that quickly turned into a sniffle. "It blew a month's worth of the Duke's ledgers and royal correspondences out the window and into the estate's pond. The servants were terrified. Moonfrey marched into the hallway, soaking wet from trying to retrieve the papers, looking like a thundercloud."

Percival stared intensely. "What did he do?"

"He found her hiding under a table, crying because she thought she would be banished," Eristasia said, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. "My great, terrifying husband crawled under that table, pulled her into his arms, and told her that royal decrees were boring anyway. That night, he took her to the courtyard and taught her how to make a proper breeze to dry the pages."

She looked down at her bound hands, the warm memory fading back into the harsh, cold reality of the inn room. "She was our light. She was stubborn, and she was vain, and she thought she knew everything about the world. But she had a good heart. And now she's gone."

Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy.

Percival looked at the fire dancing in the hearth, digesting the story. The image of the Duke under the table, the warmth of a home, the absolute, unconditional love of parents.

"I really envy people who had families growing up," Percival said quietly, his voice carrying a rare, raw honesty. He looked back at Eristasia. "I had none. No father to teach me, no mother to mourn me if I died. It must be nice, having that."

Eristasia looked at him—truly looked at him—maybe seeing the human beneath the title of the Outworlder for the first time.

Percival stood up slowly and stepped closer to her. He looked her directly in the eyes.

"I am sorry for your loss," Percival said, his tone firm and serious. "I am sorry that you're mourning your daughter. But it was self-defense, whether you want to believe it or not."

Eristasia's eyes hardened again, but she didn't interrupt.

"I am a man who wants to be left alone," Percival explained, his words steady and logical. "I'm hiding from the Kings. I'm hiding from the Guilds. Why would I throw all of that away just to murder a noble child in cold blood? It makes no sense. I'm not stupid enough to attack a royal when I'm trying to stay out of danger."

Eristasia froze.

Her brow furrowed as his words echoed in her mind. Her grief had been a blinding storm, pushing her forward on a single, bloody path of revenge. But sitting here, stripped of her magic and forced to listen, the cold logic of his statement pierced through the emotional fog.

Why would he? He'd spared her life today in the arena when he could have easily killed her. He was feeding her now. This wasn't the behavior of a rabid, bloodthirsty monster who killed for sport.

If he didn't attack first... then who did?

Aethelstan's face flashed in her mind. The Prince's insistence. The rush to declare the Hero a murderer.

Percival watched the wheels turning in her head, watching the absolute certainty of her vengeance begin to crack. He sighed and picked up the cloth gag from the table.

"Oh, sorry again, but I have to do this," he muttered, stepping behind her.

Eristasia snapped out of her thoughts, her eyes widening. "Wait, no! I won't scre—"

Her words were cut off as Percival slipped the cloth back between her teeth, tying it securely behind her head. She writhed against the chair, her muffled protests returning, but the fight in her eyes had changed. It wasn't just pure rage anymore—it was confusion.

"Get some sleep," Percival said indifferently, blowing out the candle on the table. He turned his back to her and headed toward the small cot in the corner of the room, leaving the matriarch to wrestle with the uncomfortable truth in the dark.